


Rush

by Debate



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, memori week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: The world is ending and all they have is time to kill.[During DNR, for memoriweek day 2: missing scene]





	Rush

**Author's Note:**

> so by missing scene you mean the canon smut that aired a year ago that somehow no one has yet written, right? right.

Emori doesn’t really like the lab. The light that pours out of the ceiling is harsh and nothing like the sun, and she can’t look over at the rocket without the sour taste of betrayal stinging in her mouth. So when another hour passes and Miller still hasn’t returned, she grabs John’s elbow and nods her head towards the office as a invitation to follow. Raven is typing at one of the computers behind them and doesn’t seem to notice their retreat.

The office at least is dimmer, and has a pile of blankets against the wall that they had dragged over from the mansion when Raven refused to leave the lab to get some sleep. John collapses into the chair behind the desk, spinning himself slowly with a push of his leg.

“I hate waiting,” he remarks, testing how far back he can lean without falling. Emori wants to tell him that they’ll be waiting forever, but she can’t quite bring herself to dash the last fragments of faith he has in these people, so she refrains, tells herself she’ll give them another hour or two.

“If only there were better ways to pass the time,” she says, cocking her head gently. John stops his spinning by catching his foot on the leg of the desk and raises his eyebrows as he meets her eyes. A familiar impish smile grows from the corner of his mouth. 

“Now that you mention it, I can think of a few,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets faux-casually as he rises from the chair.

Emori huffs as he approaches, the smile growing ever wider on his face. “Bet you can,” she smiles, tilting her chin up right before he kisses her. She pushes into the kiss immediately, wraps her hand around his neck to bring him closer. His teeth tug briefly at her bottom lip and she’s so glad that he gets it. They’d done soft several days ago, filled with relief about being alive and together, but now she wants something heavier, the weight of his body over hers, the strong press of his fingertips. Wants him as close to her as possible for as long as she can keep him.

John changes the angle of the kiss, leans closer to her, puts more of his weight into her hands. His tongue runs briefly against the edge of her teeth, then curls against hers. She takes a step back towards the makeshift bed—vaguely aware that she doesn’t want him to press her against the glass with Raven right below them—and he chases her lips, hands circling around her waist so they don’t break apart.

The bed is a little too low to the ground to fall onto comfortably, so she toes off her shoes, glad to have done her laces loosely, and bends down. John follows, head slipping down to the crook of her neck as he places hot, open-mouthed kisses to the line of her jaw.

He hasn’t been wearing jackets for most of the time they’ve spent on the island, which makes it all the easier to slide his shirt up, her hands trailing up his sides to skim his ribs. He pulls the sweater off himself once it bunches up beneath his armpits but returns to kissing her immediately.

Her hands glide back to his middle once she finishes nudging off her glove. His stomach and waist are particularly sensitive, and she loves the way his skin twitches and jumps as her hands grip his skin. The bit off groan he releases against her cheek tells her he likes it too.

“Jeez, can you take this off?” he pants, plucking at the collar of her shirt. Generally she likes her many layers of clothing and the feeling of comfort and protection they offer, but at the moment she’s as eager as him to have them gone.

It’s a bit of a process though, peeling off her outer layers, and one that John seems to enjoy more than her, if the encouraging nips he keeps delivering to her shoulder are any indication.

“God, you feel good,” he says against her neck, squeezing her breast and sucking hard just below her ear. She moans and gets a grip in his hair, tugging him up to kiss her. He smiles against her lips, enjoying the hair pulling.

His thigh is planted firmly between her own legs, and she rocks against it, feels him grinding into her hip in turn. The taste of their shared impatience permeates through their sloppy kiss. John isn’t moving to get rid of their pants though, and she can’t, not with all of him weighed down on top of her and the way he keeps pressing her down, mouth heavy and hard against hers.

A complaint rests on the tip of her tongue, or maybe just a hard push against his shoulder to guide his head lower, but then the hard seam of her pants presses across the length of her slit, and it’s harsh and imperfect, but it’s friction. A gasp catches in her throat as she presses as close as she can manage to him.

“That doing it for you?” John pants under her ear, voice hot and eager. She twists a handful of his hair between her two fingers and he pinches her nipple in response. A neutral humph leaves her mouth, but she keeps rocking against him, and he goes back to kissing at her neck, his lips eventually traveling down to suck at her breast. Her thighs clench when his teeth scrape her nipple.

“Bite,” she says, and hears him growl against her chest before his teeth sink into the upper curve of her breast. His lips begin to suck a moment later, leaving what will no doubt be a pretty purple mark.

The chill air is sharp in contrast to her bare skin when John’s mouth moves from her chest. It leaves her nipples tight and hard, echoing the feeling in her belly that’s clenched tight like a fist.

She groans as John’s fingers press hard into her waist, and she likes those fingers, but she wants them lower, wants him to get inside her already.

“John,” she says, meaning to be hard and a little commanding, but sounding more wrecked than anything, “Don’t make me wait.”

“Thought that was the point,” he mumbles against her jaw, but he listens, tugging her pants down and running a knuckle through her folds far too lightly. She squrims, her toes running up his still clothed calf.

“John,” she groans, and he presses closer, his chest dragging against hers. He kisses up along her cheekbone, where her tattoo is, and his fingers dip lower to her entrance.

Her body easily accepts one and then two of his fingers, and she hears John curse against her hair, almost in wonderment. The slide of his fingers is hard inside her, and he curls his palm to drag against her clit. All her limbs feel heavy with pleasure, her toes flexing.

Her breathing is scattered when his hand pulls away to work at dragging his pants down.

He has to sit up a little bit to get them off, Emori traces the red and white scars on his chest with her eyes. There's nothing attractive about them, except that they're on him and some of them so familiar by now she can't help but love that part of him too. John smirks at her like he isn't taking an eyeful too, and she has half a mind to poke fun at him, before he grabs her by the hips and tugs her closer to him.

Her legs wrap around his waist, her ass atop his thighs. He drags his cock against her before pressing in.

“Fuck,” she hears him groan as his hand tightens on her hip in an attempt to keep her steady, but she rolls her hips to meets on the next thrust and can't help but let out a half laugh when he curses again. He bears down harder, the press of his pelvis sharp and satisfying against hers. A red blush climbs up his neck and she wants to trace its path with her lips and tongue, but she can't reach, so her hand trails down her own neck to massage her breast.

“Emori…” he moans, his hands dragging up her hips and waist. Her stomach and thighs are so tense they feel close to shattering at his touch. She reaches down, grips his hand briefly with hers against her skin before drifting lower to rub at her clit. John watches the movement, and he exhales words of encouragement before he meets her eyes again.

She clenches around him and his hand stutters on her waist before digging into her skin. Her eyes close then as she bares her throat and arches her back. John says something she doesn't understand and then his fingers join hers as he pulls out. His mouth is on hers suddenly, his nose brushing against her cheek, and her legs tremble as pinpricks of warmth and pleasure expand out from between her legs.

She catches John’s wrist with her hand and hears his smile in the release of his breath.

“You good?” he asks, like the world isn’t ending in five days and they haven’t been abandoned to end with it.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, tilting her face into his plan as he strokes her cheek with his thumb. “I’ve got you.”

He pulls her close to him, her head resting on his shoulder, and they really need to get dressed and talk about the fact that they’ve been left here to die, but they can spare a few minutes for this.

After all if the world has to end, this is how she wants to go— with John’s hands curled around her back and his heartbeat in her ear. There’s no rush.


End file.
